


Adapting To Tea

by spyrkle10



Category: El Goonish Shive
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Possibly AU, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 00:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyrkle10/pseuds/spyrkle10
Summary: Adrian Raven and several times he drinks tea. Starts before Blaike's death and ends with Sister II. It's a bit introspective and the historical time periods are left ambiguous. (About regular, not transformation, tea.)





	

The first time Adrian Raven tries tea, he drinks it too quickly and almost spits it out. His mother is smiling at him, almost laughing at his comical expression, and his father is much the same.

“You can spit it out, if it’s really that hot,” Blaike offers.

But Adrian refuses to let something as silly as heat keep him from trying something new that he might actually like. He swallows and tastes something bitter and unfamiliar… but, somehow, it appeals to him. He’s only eight, and his parents have always told him to accept new things. He’s never really understood it until now.

He sniffs the black liquid, steam rising from his cup, and blows on the tea. He tries it again, and this time he tastes it properly. He doesn’t really know how to describe it – it’s unique and new and nothing like the few times he’s sipped alcohol.

But he knows that it’s good and his nose and mouth like it, so he cheerfully remarks, “It’s good!”

Pandora claps her hands, her smile growing larger and larger until it is far beyond human capabilities. Blaike grins, one eye winking conspiratorially at his partner. She winks back, and their son pretends not to see it. His parents do all sorts of things he’s not supposed to notice, like cursing out the local rulers (he’s learned all of his curse words from those discussions, though they don’t use many).  
  
“That’s ‘black tea.’ They make all kinds of tea, with the tea plant and with other plants, Adrian. Will you try those too?” Adrian’s father asks carefully. When he nods, his father lights up. From there it descends into hugging and jokes and laughter, because the world is so vast and now they all share some bit of curiosity, some need to explore it and understand the unknown. Even if Adrian only wants to do it because of stories and tea.  
  
  
He tries making tea for himself a few months after his father dies. His hands are shaky, and he hasn’t slept in a week. He thinks of cold nights and warm embraces, his father’s rough hands overlapping his own as they prepare tea. Adrian doesn’t have anything left of the tea is father brought back from afar, since they’d left their old home the day after the news, but he’s heard of making tea from other things.

  
His mother told him she would be leaving for a few weeks, and he doesn’t want to know where she went. He collects chamomile, carefully pinching the flowers from the plants early in the morning. The sun is distant and cold, and he shivers, but does not falter.

  
He watches color flow through the boiling water and contemplates how proud his father would have been, seeing this. He would have been so excited, making grand gestures with his hands, and his eyes would’ve gleamed with amusement. He would have steadied Adrian’s hands, and then – he stops trying to imagine it, but his efforts are futile. His eyes are wet.

  
He sips the tea once he stops crying, and it tastes faintly sweet, just like how it smells. The color is a bit off-putting, since it’s practically yellow, but he thinks it’s good. The warmth of his cup steadies him, since his father cannot.  
  
  
He travels around for a while, seeing the world. Each place he goes to quickly gains a small piece of his heart, and he stays for a good few decades, at the least, in every place. Adrian enjoys stability, but his parents have rubbed off on him, and he enjoys travelling as well. Sitting in a small parlor in London, sipping from a fragile porcelain cup with an enamored suitor, is a good argument against such a lifestyle.

“I cannot be with you. Such a thing would be improper – I often travel, and I have many family matters to attend to. Furthermore, I care for you as an acquaintance, and we have only known each other for a few months,” Adrian argues. He has not even smelled the tea placed in front of him – he doesn’t want to associate the one constant in his life with such a distasteful situation.

The girl in front of him is barely 16 – not even close to his age. She is from a wealthy family, and is affluent enough to purchase fresh tea from China, the leaves not used even once. He doesn’t envy her, though. He knows how to prepare beverages quite a bit like tea with various plants, and drinks true tea rarely by his decision.

“But… Please…” His suitor sputters. He looks away, and she turns from him, stands, and leaves. He takes a sip of the fine black tea, carefully sweetened to his already-known preference, but it tastes a bit bitter anyway. No matter what he does, sorrow follows him, in the form of others’ suffering or his own. Still, he drains his cup now that she is gone. No need to waste it.

His mother visits him the next day at the small home he’s renting, and the vicious argument that ensues saps his strength. She is offended by the girl’s offer to take care of him, as if he were a pet, in an unequal marriage. He cannot be enraged, because the tea was good and she is young and foolish. His mother is old and even more foolish, though, and she never offers him tea.

He’s surprised when she does, a month later. It’s just a few small bags, each prepared differently, and she smiles softly at his shocked expression.

“I acted rashly, confronting you about such a thing,” She admits, half-arrogant and half-regretful. Her fingers run through her soft tea-colored hair.

“Thank you, Mother,” Adrian replies, smiling in his mother’s presence for the first time in several years. “Would you like some tea?” He offers almost automatically. Pandora stiffens a bit.

“Thank you for offering, but no. Farewell, son.” And then she is gone, leaving Adrian with several bags of tea. He prepares a cup of oolong, priced highly in tea shops, and the complex taste and scent are an adequate replacement for friends and family.  
  
  
He prepares the tea carefully, one eye on his work and the other on his young charge, Noah. For once the boy is patiently waiting, silent and focused. The sencha leaves are bright green and while the resulting tea is a different color entirely, the child seems enthralled by the process of steeping the tea.

Pouring hot tea is a delicate process with little room for error, but centuries of practice make for steady hands. Noah blows on the tea, becoming a bit impatient with the lengthy process, while Adrian watches the steam rise from his drink, his fingers flat against the smooth wood of his kitchen table.

Noah takes a sip once he deems the drink cool enough, and winces. “It takes time to get used to,” Adrian admits. He holds back a chuckle, knowing that it would only anger Noah. “I think that learning to prepare and savor tea will be another way to improve your patience and control your anger.” It didn’t help Adrian, but it might be able to help someone younger from becoming arrogant and complacent.

“This is stupid,” Noah says firmly, about to stand up… but for some reason he takes another sip of his tea first. The blond remains seated. “I’ll try it, but it’s stupid,” He concludes.

His guardian takes this as a victory, and drinks his tea slowly. The tea is far more bitter and the taste is far stronger than any black tea, to him – but it brings back memories of a joyful trip instead of hours spent mourning his inability to save his father, his inability to find companionship, his inability to fight for the land(s) he loves.  
For Noah it comes to symbolize the beginning of his control over himself and the recognition of his mentor.  
  
  
After Adrian is cleared from the hospital, he takes out a small pouch of rooibos and watches boiling water turn red. Noah was supposedly safe at school. His mother’s plans could have resulted in the deaths of everyone there. He cannot justify such actions, such disregard for human life. She has been like this for so long that he can just barely remember her fascination with rooibos and the beautiful color it steeps to. Blaike would always laugh as she leaned in close to the hot liquid and lurched away, over and over again, eyes never leaving the water.

The red of his ‘tea’ reminds him of blood in his morbid mood, and he almost dumps the pot’s contents in the sink. But he pours himself a cup and sips. The smooth, warm beverage is calming, and he lets go of his worries about Pandora’s ominous words for a few moments, lost in time. Once Noah is home, he will prepare precautions and lock away the few fragile memories of a long-gone youth.  
The long leaves of the rooibos plant have always reminded him of needles, jabbing playfully into his hands like his mother’s tickling fingers.

He’d once purchased a spicy rooibos blend and tried out the new blend of flavors on his tongue, but plain rooibos was his favorite. Perhaps it was a sign that he couldn’t let go of the past, but the accusation, if ever leveled against him, would be true. He continued to cherish faulty and irrelevant memories, and held on to every regret and mistake he’d made throughout his life.

Adrian noted that he would need to buy more rooibos soon, and took another sip from his cup.

**Author's Note:**

> Tea Notes:  
> Chamomile does grow in Germany and some parts of the Soviet Union.  
> Tea in England was originally only for the wealthy and the lower classes were often sold already-used tea by the servants of nobles.  
> Oolong is a type of tea from China that can be steeped several times without losing its flavor, making it more valuable.  
> Sencha is from Japan and rooibos is from Africa.  
> Tisanes are not actually tea, but dried fruit blends.


End file.
